The Last Straw
by Auntie Shred
Summary: A collection of short stories portraying the slow and not necessarily steady development of the personal relationship of Goren and Eames.
1. The First Last Straw

**THE FIRST LAST STRAW**

_Setting: after S01/E08 The Faithful_

Disclaimer: _The Law & Order characters are owned by Dick Wolf. No infringement of rights is intended. This story is written for entertainment purposes only._

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><p>I'd reached the last straw. There was no way I could work with Goren.<p>

I'll put up with annoyance, stress and even danger – but a partner who ignores my input? Goes out of his way to flout NYPD protocol? Jeopardizes an investigation with crazy schemes? No. No way. That's not for me.

How did I let Goren persuade me to hide the fact that Father McShale was Kevin Donovan's father? Or that Kevin's mother was living a comfortable, fraudulent life in suburban New Jersey after abandoning her child nearly twenty years ago?

I put on a good front for Captain Deakins. He gave us funny looks, but the fact that we got a confession from the priest smoothed over his doubts. Deakins won't question good results.

Mr. Carver isn't as easy to pacify. I have no idea how Goren explained Father McShale's confession to him, but it couldn't have been good. Every time Carver's passed through the squad room since then, he's given Goren and me the evil eye. Obviously Goren never considered that it might be HELPFUL to be on good terms with the District Attorney's office. I'm dreading the next time we have to work with Carver.

But maybe there won't be a next time – at least not with Goren. I know the guy's smart and intuitive and effective and all that, but I don't need his show-boating.

No, I take that back. I have to be honest. He's not a bragger. He puts on all sorts of antics when we're with a witness or suspect, but I know that's his method for getting them to open up and tell us the truth. It's bizarre to watch and impossible to predict and unsettling and definitely not my style – but I sort of get that part.

What drives me up the wall is the way he decides which NYPD procedures he'll follow and which he'll ignore. Just a couple months ago he brought in some buddy of his who's a forger.

A forger? Shouldn't we be arresting guys like that? Apparently not, since Goren brought him right into the squad room and had him write a fake letter, which we used to get a witness to reveal that his domineering mother had planned the murder of his fiancée and their unborn child. I'm still uneasy about the whole thing.

I don't like the direction Goren's taking me, which is why I was in the squad room very early on our day off, waiting for Captain Deakins to arrive. I sat at my kitchen table the night before, composing a request for a new partner, then came in early to type it up.

Deakins won't want to accept it, but it's my right to ask for a reassignment. It's not like I hate Goren or anything – we just don't fit as partners. And this wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision. I've been going back and forth in my mind for weeks, but if I intend to move ahead in the NYPD it's the best choice for me.

It's probably the best choice for Goren, too. He's got to learn that this lone ranger approach is going to sink his career – and the sooner he learns it, the better for everyone. But it's obvious he's not willing to learn anything from me.

I heard the ping of the elevator, and looked up as Captain Deakins strode into the bullpen area.

I gave him a minute to take off his coat, then took a deep breath and headed toward his office.

.


	2. Did Something Right

**DID SOMETHING RIGHT**

_Setting:_ _after S01/E14 Homo Homini Lupus_

* * *

><p>It crept up on me gradually until I was trembling all over. I had to concentrate to keep my hand from shaking as I filled out the booking forms for Simon Matic. It was as though all the anger and revulsion I'd felt for the kidnapper and rapist was suddenly swelling up inside me. In another minute it was too much to control. I set down my pen and held my palms together between my knees.<p>

Eames and I were in the Manhattan District Attorney's headquarters, seated on either side of the huge mahogany table in Mr. Carver's office. I wanted to get up and walk for a distraction from the horror of thinking about what Matic had done to Maggie Coulter, and what we may have prevented him from doing. However, taking a walk wasn't a possibility at the moment. The quickest way to get out was to plow through the paperwork – but my hands weren't steady enough for that at the moment.

I pressed my knees together even tighter.

"You okay over there?" Eames said. She paused to flex her fingers.

I nodded, paused, and then shrugged. I didn't look directly at her because I was afraid she was angry at me for the way we got Matic's confession. I'd played up sympathetically to him at first, letting him brag about his supposed service in the Serbian army. Sometimes she objects to that technique. In fact, I wasn't sure Eames was too keen on the way I got Maggie to open up to us, either.

Eames has reamed me out more than once about my methods. She thinks I bend the rules too far for investigations and interrogations. I don't agree, but I understand her point of view – she's much more by-the-book. Fortunately she's never complained in front of Captain Deakins or anyone else. Unfortunately, dealing with her occasional anger or cold-shoulder treatment was getting to be unproductive and confusing.

I didn't want to say something now that would push any of her buttons. This case has been emotionally draining.

"You know, I really wanted to hurt that slime-ball Matic," Eames said, dropping her pen and stretching her arms. "Something sadistic, something like what he did to Maggie, and all those other women. But... I think what you did to him was better."

At that, I looked at her in surprise. "Better?" Eames thought I did something right?

"Yeah, when he was led out of interrogation he looked petrified," she said. "The coward."

"Any man who'd treat women and children like that... he is a coward."

"I know it's not funny, but I almost laughed in his ugly face when you said his scars were from the kitchen knife of one of his victims," she said, sitting up straighter and leaning forward eagerly. "His reaction was so, so…"

"Satisfying," I said.

"Yes! It hurt him to hear the truth – you could see him flinch." She reached for the next form to sign.

My hands felt steady again. The restless anger had evaporated. I massaged my knuckles as I watched her. Eames wasn't angry at me – in fact, she was pleased with me!

It might mess up her good mood, but I wanted to explain my approach to the job. I took a chance and said, "Most of the people we – or, or some people... When we catch them, they want to get away with the crime, but they feel guilt. Something inside them – conscience, whatever – they feel relief when the truth comes out."

Eames looked at me intently. "Some. Not this one."

"It was important to take him off the street."

"I get that," she said. "Putting away someone who was stupid or selfish... we solve the crime, but there's not much satisfaction. But this... it's one very bad guy who can't hurt girls like Maggie any more. Days like these I feel like we're making a difference."

"I hope Maggie and her sister and mom get help... counseling. It's hard to imagine."

"What you told her," Eames said, "when we were at her house – what you said - it helped. It was like a light came on when Maggie realized she had power over that scum."

Eames was hardly ever this open with me – friendly, in fact! It was a very good feeling.

We both looked toward the doorway as Mr. Carver's assistant appeared with more papers. "This is the last set," she said. "Sorry, I think we printed out some of them twice, but it'll be easier if you just sign everything, and I'll sort it out later." She cleared a spot on the table for the new stack. "Sorry."

"So much for getting out of here while it's still daylight," Eames said.

The assistant had only been gone a minute when Mr. Carver returned. "Pick up line two, please," he said, pointing to the phone on his desk. "It's your captain." He shuffled behind my chair to his desk, where we'd been piling the completed forms.

Eames took the call and spoke quietly with Captain Deakins as I scribbled name, date and badge number on a few more forms.

"Okay, got it," she said, and hung up the phone. "Captain Deakins says he's buying a round at Roy's Tavern on Broome Street. I don't know about you two," she said, looking from me to Mr. Carver, "but I definitely could use a little decompression."

"Don't you mean debriefing?" Mr. Carver asked.

"Debriefing, decompression, and Dewar's," Eames replied with a straight face.

Carver and I both laughed.

"Good choice, Eames," I said. "I'm in."

She reached for the final stack of forms and dropped it between us. "I suddenly feel motivated to finish this paperwork. Captain said you're invited, too," she said to Mr. Carver.

"I have to deliver all of this to the judge," he replied, spreading his hands wide over the table. "But... I should be able to join you before your debriefing is over. Or decompression."

Eames winked at me as she said, "You don't want to miss the Dewar's, either, Counselor."

* * *

><p>"Final round, anyone?" Captain Deakins called. He looked around for our waitress.<p>

"I'm good, thanks," Eames said. She pushed her glass away. "I hit my limit."

"Carver, Goren, you in?" The captain looked at us. He'd bought the first round; Eames and I had bought the next two. There were a few other MCS detectives at the next booth, and Mr. Carver had arrived half an hour ago.

I wouldn't have minded one last beer, but Eames threw her arm in front of me the way she might if we were in the car and she'd hit the brakes suddenly. "Goren's done, too," she said, and now I noticed a very slight slurring of her words.

I shrugged. "Guess I'm done."

"No, I'm serious," Eames said. "We gotta be at work in the morning, you know." She looked okay, but the alcohol had clearly worked its way to her tongue.

Captain Deakins winked at her. "Yeah, and I heard your captain comes down hard if you show up hung over. Okay, we'll call it a night – you call a cab."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thanks."

Deakins stood and congratulated us again on rescuing the Coulter women and getting good evidence on Matic to put him away. He shook hands all around; he and Carver left at the same time.

Eames excused herself to the ladies' room, but warned me not to leave without her.

By the time she came back everyone else in our party was gone. She slid back into the booth beside me. That was unusual; we always sat across from each other. She leaned on an elbow and looked up at me. She was definitely more relaxed than I'd ever seen her.

"You know what we need?" she asked.

"Another drink?"

"No, no, no. Cut it out, thinkin' I'm drunk!" She prodded her elbow into my ribs. "I'm just... just... what did I say back in Carver's office?"

"Decompressing?"

"Yes, decompressing. The horror has to get to you sometimes, doesn't it? This one was bad: children kidnapped... shootouts on the street... Serbian rapist..."

"Internal Affairs said your shot was good," I said, referring to the exchange she'd had with Matic's accomplice who was attempting to snatch another young girl. "You had to do it."

"I know. I'm okay with it." She sighed, shook her head slowly.

"It gets to me sometimes," I said.

"This wasn't where I was going with my question, Bobby."

She'd recently started calling me by my first name, which was fine with me. Partners should be comfortable with each other. However, the few times I called her Alex I got a surprised, sometimes sour look from her. I figured it was about being professional and maintaining respect, or something to do with being a woman cop. I didn't mind calling her Eames if that's what she wanted. I respect her a lot.

I crossed my forearms on the table, getting up in her face with a big smile. "Where were you going, then?"

She laughed and pushed against my head, then my shoulders. "Don't make me hurt you. I was saying," she said with emphasis, "we should get something to eat. You know, food? To absorb the alcohol in my stomach? So I can drive home? Eventually."

"Ah, I get it," I said, leaning even closer. "You're trying to get away from me."

Her smile faded, and she looked at me seriously, maybe even affectionately. She patted my head. "No. I'm staying. You're a good partner."

.


	3. Inside Information

**INSIDE INFORMATION**

_Setting: after S02/E23 A Person of Interest_

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><p>I was annoyed at myself. Here we were, on our way to our first interview of a hot investigation – a City Councilman's wife was missing – but I couldn't get my mind off our previous case, our second run-in with Nicole Wallace in under a year. I was so stuck on it that when my cell phone rang in my pocket as I was driving, I jumped a little and realized I hadn't been paying attention to the road signs. We were way past our exit on the Long Island Expressway; in fact, we'd crossed the line into Nassau County. I never did that.<p>

The phone stopped ringing before I got it out of my pocket. I moved into the right lane and got off at the next exit.

Our witness or possible suspect was in the hospital with a broken leg. He wasn't going anywhere fast, so we weren't going to lose him. The delay was a problem because with a missing person who might have been kidnapped, minutes could make a big difference.

I looked over at Goren, ready to apologize. He hadn't noticed a thing. He'd been staring out his side window for the whole trip. Neither of us had tried to make conversation – not that unusual, but…

We were both shell-shocked from contact with Nicole Wallace. The woman gave me the creeps, and she'd set off alarm bells for Goren. Who wouldn't be scared to find out they were being stalked by a pathological killer?

As we went through the U-turn, he finally woke up from his trance and looked at me and our surroundings. "Are we... Where are we?"

"Sorry," I said. "I missed the exit. Overshot a couple miles."

"Oh." He fussed with his leather binder, and then went back to staring out the window.

He hadn't said anything, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he was also rehashing his interactions with Nicole.

Goren's interview tactic of finding some way to identify with a suspect to draw out a confession was usually successful, but it definitely didn't work with Nicole. To be honest, I couldn't imagine any tactic working on her. She'd turned the whole thing around on him, using personal information against him and acting like she was attracted to him. She'd planned her latest set of crimes only to ruin his reputation as a detective – she killed two people for no other purpose. No wonder Goren was having trouble shaking off the skin-crawly feeling.

At least Nicole was in custody; we gave the District Attorney plenty of evidence against her, including entering the country with a false identity and attempting to bribe a judge. We were hoping Mr. Carver would also nail her for murder and illegal possession of anthrax.

My phone rang again.

"Can you take this for me?" I asked. I took it out of my pocket and handed it over.

He flipped it open. "Goren... Not yet. We're just... Oh?" There was a long pause as he listened. He glanced over at me, but his expression didn't give a clue about the conversation. "Do you want us to... Okay." He hung up and said, "Deakins."

"What'd he say?" I asked.

"The missing wife called home," he said.

"Called home? She wasn't kidnapped?" The Councilman had insisted she was kidnapped by her former husband.

Goren shook his head. "She's in Costa Rica with some, uh, girlfriends from college. Her phone's been turned off."

"Her husband didn't know she was going on vacation? She didn't mention it to him? They've got great communication skills in that marriage. But how come we didn't find her name on any flights?"

"One of the friends has a private jet," Goren said. "They flew out of Teterboro."

"So I guess we don't need to interview the ex-brother-in-law." He was the one with the broken leg.

"No. Deakins told us to take the rest of the day off."

The digital clock in the dashboard read 5:12. "So generous of him," I said, grinning.

He didn't laugh at my little joke.

We'd been running hard all day on this supposed kidnapping. Now that the pressure was suddenly off, I remembered how little I'd eaten. Since my morning coffee I'd had nothing but a couple bottles of water, some breath mints, and a granola bar I shared with Goren.

"Hey," I said, "Want to stop for lunch?"

"Lunch? It's five o'clock."

"I know, but we're in diner country out here – we can do lunch, dinner or breakfast."

"Mmm." His fingers drummed on his leg for a few seconds. "Okay, you pick the place."

* * *

><p>I pointed my fork at Bobby before stabbing it into my omelet. "I bet diners sell most of their breakfast dishes outside of breakfast hours," I said. "There's probably a study done by the egg industry, something like that."<p>

He nodded kind of vaguely. Maybe he was too hungry to appreciate my humor? Then again, I was too hungry to be curious about his mood.

But I only had a minute or so to enjoy my meal before I found out what was distracting him.

"Eames, I need to apologize to you," he said.

"Okay," I said, reaching for my coffee. I took a sip and then asked, "What for?"

"This whole thing with... I completely lost objectivity. I stepped right into Nicole's trap, and I, I, I dragged you along with me..." He shook his head and looked down at his plate.

I stared at him, thinking how to reply.

On one hand, I got some satisfaction to see that the Mighty Goren was human after all. Of course, I'd known that fact all along, and to be honest, I was sure he never thought of himself as infallible or anything like that. He had great instincts; it was true. But I'd warned him that relying on his gut instinct more than plain old evidence and research was going to land him in trouble. Obviously Nicole had seen the same potential.

On the other hand – and this feeling was much stronger – I wanted to protect my partner. I wanted to do whatever it took to make us successful, to make us the best. The two of us together could handle anybody, including Nicole Wallace.

Bobby's apology now meant that he valued our partnership, too. That felt good.

"Okay..." I said, and waited for him to meet my eye. "Apology accepted."

He kept on fidgeting. "You told me, but... I uh, I should have..."

I let him go on a minute, and then I interrupted. "Hey," I said, tapping my fork on the edge of his plate. "I said I accept your apology, so you can stop beating yourself up. Look, Bobby, most of the time your sixth sense is right. I trust your hunches."

He looked surprised – hadn't I complimented his skills before this?

"I mean it," I said, and took another sip of coffee. "But this time... Nobody could have guessed that Nicole was involved. Remember you and Wally Stevens and patterns?"

He nodded, and I could tell he'd already thought of the comparison. "I know," he said. "She figured out my patterns, and..."

"We know her patterns, too," I said. "She could have been long gone before we ever knew she'd been there – except she had to gloat about it. That's how we got her."

"Yeah. So... thanks, Eames." He reached across the table to grab my hand. He gave a quick squeeze.

"I'll remind you of this the next time you're swept away by profiling theory." I finished my coffee, then reached for my purse and slid out of the booth. "If the waitress comes by while I'm in the ladies' room," I said, "ask her for a refill, okay?"

When I returned, Bobby was on the phone, and he was scribbling in his binder. My first thought was that we'd been called back into the mess with the missing vacationing wife. Oh well, at least we'd gotten a break for dinner.

As I sat down he said, "She's back. Hang on... um, sure, no problem... Okay, here she is." He thrust the phone at me. He looked flustered.

"Who is it, Deakins?" I whispered to him, but as I lifted the cell phone to my ear I heard my sister's voice on the other end. Why was Jackie calling my partner? "Hi," I said.

"Hey you," Jackie said, "Sooo... Is there something I should know about you and Bobby?"

"Huh?"

"How come he's answering your phone, hmm?" she asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "And where are you guys? I can hear music. Come on, Alex, did he take you out to dinner?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said, looking at Bobby and trying to guess if she'd said any of this to him. I couldn't tell. "What planet are you calling from? We're on the job, and we stopped to eat."

"Oh." Jackie was disappointed by that explanation – too boring. "But he answered your cell phone. That's kind of personal."

I looked at the phone – it was mine. I remembered giving it to him in the car a while back. "Yeah, well it happens now and then when we're working. Was there some reason you called?"

She sighed, and I had to smile at my sister's romantic imagination. I couldn't blame her for wondering. If Bobby wasn't my partner I might have had similar thoughts. But of course... well, never mind.

Jackie said, "I... heard from the fertility clinic this afternoon."

I pulled the phone tight against my ear. "And?"

After my sister's third miscarriage she was devastated. I did some research on surrogate pregnancy, and for her birthday this year I'd offered to try it. The baby would be hers and Mike's – I'd just be helping to get the kid to a successful delivery.

She said, "I have to go in tomorrow for a blood test. Assuming all these fertility drugs I'm taking are working, the doctor wants to harvest my eggs right away, like tomorrow or the next day."

"Okay, wow," I said. I could feel Bobby looking at me, but I had to keep my eyes down to focus on my sister's voice. My heart beat sped up.

"I know," she said, "and if the, uh, the thing with the embryos is successful..." We both took a deep breath at the same time. I'd also been taking meds for this procedure. This plan was moving from theoretical to actual in a hurry. Jackie continued, "If it is, then they'll do the implant the next day. Alex, can you do that? – can you just come when we need you?"

"Yes, don't worry about that," I said. "It takes a few hours, right?"

I'd planned to take off a half day personal time – or a whole day if necessary – for the implant procedure. Other than checking with the insurance company about coverage, I didn't intend to make any announcement outside the family until I knew I was pregnant.

But I realized now I needed to tell the person sitting across the table from me. Partners are family, after all.

I finished my conversation with Jackie. Bobby was watching quietly, and I knew he was bursting with questions. I took my time putting the phone away in my purse.

"Your sister," he said, "she, her voice sounds like yours. But you talk differently."

"Yeah, she talks a lot faster, and a lot more."

"Her name's Jacqueline?"

I nodded.

"For Jacqueline Kennedy?" he asked. "A lot of girls were named after her in the sixties."

"My Mom said she'd always liked that name anyway," I said. "So... Um, Bobby..." I took a gulp of coffee. "What did Jackie tell you?"

"Just..." He looked at the notes he'd taken, and then back at me. "She has a doctor's appointment tomorrow at ten-thirty. Are you going to drive her there?" He picked up his pen as though he was interviewing a witness.

I gently took away the pen. I set it down, and on impulse I held out both my hands to him. That move sent his curiosity off the charts, but he stayed quiet as he put his hands into mine.

"Bobby," I said, "I need to tell you something, and I just want you to listen, okay?"

His eyes were huge as he nodded. I couldn't help smiling - he looked so cute when he was curious.

.


	4. I Pity The Fool

**I PITY THE FOOL**

_Setting: after S03/E04 But Not Forgotten_

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><p>Eames and I went back to our desks after Isobel Carnicki strolled out of Captain Deakins' office. I'd played up to Isobel, but she hadn't needed persuasion to give us incriminating evidence to arrest her husband Earl for murder. The thing about her that got to me was her cold hatred for him. She'd obviously been nursing her anger for a long time. The look in her eyes was chilling.<p>

A few minutes later the Captain came out of his office toward us. "You know," he said, "you two need to sit down with Carver and go over everything with a fine tooth comb. I'm thinking Isobel might not walk away clean, depending on what she knew and when."

"I'll call him," Eames said, using her desk to push herself slowly to her feet. Her belly was big enough these days to throw her off balance sometimes. I held my breath until she was upright. "And speaking of clean, Bobby, you might want to wash up after holding her hand. Sheesh, I nearly heaved when you did that!"

The Captain smiled. "You feeling okay, Eames? Everything good with the baby?"

"Everything's good. He weighs over two pounds now; heartbeat's strong; he practices kickboxing at the strangest times."

"If you have any problems," Deakins said, "you come to me right away. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said. I knew she didn't like being coddled.

The captain looked at me next. "And I expect you to tell me if she's too stubborn to admit her limitations."

Eames frowned and shook her head, but didn't say anything. The captain returned to his office.

She didn't look at me as she stood beside her desk, checking folders and organizing them into a stack. I opened my leather binder to pull out notes on this case. If Eames was mad about the Captain's orders, the best thing was to leave her alone for a while.

When she spoke her voice was low. "I don't want him assuming I'm on the verge of collapse all the time." She kept working, and let her hair swing down to hide her face.

I was pretty sure the Captain didn't assume that, but I stayed quiet.

She slapped down a thick folder onto the pile. "I hope he's watching," she said. "I'm going to let you carry this to the work room."

"You want me to carry you, too?" I asked as I reached for the papers.

She snorted a laugh. "Deakins would have a stroke. And you might have a hernia. The baby weighs two pounds, but I've gained eighteen!"

Eames plus eighteen pounds didn't seem like a challenge, but I just chuckled. As her pregnancy became impossible to ignore, I'd made a point of letting her set the pace for us. At first that was a literal thing – walking only as fast as she did – but it expanded to include leaving for the day earlier, stopping to eat when she was hungry, and even skipping coffee when I was with her.

We both knew it was happening, but we didn't talk about it.

I set the stack on the table inside the visitor office. "Do you want to–" I turned and saw her holding the sides of her belly with a fascinated expression.

"Hey," she said with a big smile, "come here and feel this."

She'd let me feel the baby kick before, so I held out a hand and approached. She guided me to the right spot, and I felt a series of tiny thumps. It wasn't as sharp as the kicks I'd felt before.

"What is that?" I asked, sliding my other hand onto her belly.

"He's got hiccups," she said. "It happened last week, and I asked the doctor about it."

"In the womb?"

"I know, it's funny, isn't it? Oh, there he goes." The movement stopped. "I guess he held his breath and counted to seven."

I leaned down, patted her belly and said, "Good boy," to the baby.

She laughed. Eames has a great laugh.

As I stepped back I saw the Captain and a bunch of our coworkers staring at us through the glass walls. Most of them had silly grins on their faces, but Captain Deakins had his arms crossed and he looked serious.

I shrugged and held up my palms to them. Eames swung around and saw them too, and there were a few laughs. I half expected her to flip them off, but I guess because the Captain was there she just shook her head.

* * *

><p>A few mornings after we handed over all our paperwork on Earl Carnicki to the DA's office, I got to the squad room and saw a cup of tea steeping on Eames' desk, but not Eames herself. I scanned the bullpen and saw her in the Captain's office. The door was closed and they were both seated. When I got close enough to look in, Deakins shook his head at me.<p>

This wasn't good. I went back to my desk.

Finally Eames stalked out of the office and sat down with a huff. I was sure Deakins had put her on desk duty, and I felt a lump in my throat. That meant I had to start working with the temporary partner, whoever that was.

"I'm going to the cafeteria," she said.

Of all the things she might have said at this point, that had to be the last thing I expected. She already had a cup of tea right in front of her.

She stood up and grabbed her coat. "Wait five minutes, and then you come, too. Are you listening?"

"Yes." It finally clicked that she wanted to talk privately. "Five minutes."

Eames looked even angrier by the time I joined her at a back table. I was sure she'd been desked, but we'd both known this was coming, so I didn't understand the shock on her face.

"Eames?" I reached across the table to touch her hand, but she immediately pulled away. "He put you on desk duty?" I asked.

"Yes, but that's not..." She pressed both hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. "I swear, Bobby, all the stress of the job is nothing – it's the stupidity that kills me."

"What happened?"

"Captain says we're too close. To each other. He thinks we've got something going on the side."

I felt my mouth drop open.

Eames continued. "Yes, he really said that – because I let you feel the baby's hiccups the other day."

"But, but, but that was just..." Now I understood her frustration.

"I know!"

I'd occasionally wondered whether Eames and I could make it as a couple, but I knew better than to let personal issues interfere with our MCS partnership. "Eames, we haven't done anything wrong."

"He tried to be all fatherly, but..." Her jaw muscles were clenching. "He also said that if I want to come back from leave as your partner, we can't... can't..." She shook her head and looked at the ceiling. "We can't date while I'm out. He didn't ask if it was true. He just said it has to stop."

"Did you tell him we're not–"

"Of course! So then he said to think of it as a refresher on department policy."

I was angry, but mostly because of the injustice to my partner. "If he thinks that, why didn't he say anything to me?"

"Oh," she said, "your turn is coming."

We gazed at each other for a while, and I could hear the wheels turning in her mind. Captain Deakins' warning might backfire and produce the exact opposite of what he intended.

"Eames," I said, deliberately slowing down my breathing and speaking calmly, "I want us to be partners when you come back from leave. Don't you?"

She frowned. "I know where you're going with this, Bobby, and... yes, I agree. But it burns me that he makes all these assumptions based on... on this kid's hiccups! Oh, geez!" She abruptly stood up.

"Are you okay?" I asked, getting up also.

"It can't be coincidence," Eames said, rubbing her belly. "He knows my moods, and he starts kicking when I'm upset. Sorry, I can't give you a feel this time." She wagged her eyebrows at me suggestively.

We waited for the baby to stop moving, and then headed back to the squad room. The elevator was empty except for us, but even so, we stood at opposite sides of the car.

Just before we reached the eleventh floor, Eames said, "Damn right I'm going to be your partner when I come back!"

.


	5. Cheers

**CHEERS**

_Setting: after S03/E10 F.P.S._

* * *

><p>I must have been dozing, because all of a sudden I saw my partner standing in the doorway of my hospital room, holding a potted flower. The sight of him made me smile.<p>

"Don't stand out there – come on in," I said, waving him inside. He didn't move. "Bobby, I really don't feel up to yelling across the room."

That got him across the threshold and up to the bed. "This is for you." He held out the flower like a kid bringing a corsage for his prom date. "It's a hyacinth."

"Thanks," I said, pointing to the bedside table for him to set it down. I took a deep breath. "It smells nice."

"You can plant it, and it'll bloom every spring."

I didn't make a snide remark about how I kill most plants that enter my house. Bobby looked earnest and happy, and I didn't want to kill the mood. I said, "Thanks. Come on, sit down and stay a while."

"Where's the baby?" Bobby asked, looking around as though he might have overlooked him.

"They'll bring him in from the nursery in a little while – at feeding time."

His eyes darted away, and he looked embarrassed.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not breastfeeding. Jonathan's perfectly happy with formula."

"Oh, right." Bobby took off his overcoat, draped it neatly over the chair, and sat down close to the bed.

"My sister usually arrives in time to do it all: feeding, burping, changing." Jackie was practically floating on air with happiness and gratitude. I couldn't help but feel happy for her, too. The doctor had warned me I'd probably go through separation issues or something like that, but for the moment I was in a great mood. I smiled at Bobby again.

He nodded, and leaned a forearm on the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore, but they tell me I'm doing fine. In fact," I said, "I'm supposed to get out of bed every few hours. I've been kind of restless. Do you mind walking me down the hall and back?"

"Uhh..."

I pointed. "Just grab the bathrobe for me."

I couldn't move very fast, but it was an improvement over the first time they forced me to take a walk. At least now I didn't feel like groaning with every step, and I didn't shuffle like a little old lady who needed a walker.

We strolled out into the hallway.

"Which way?" he asked.

I tilted my head to the left. "It goes around in a square. Hope I make it. You might have to steal a wheelchair."

"No problem, Eames," he said, "I'll carry you."

"Okay, but not over your shoulder like a fireman." We both laughed. I was glad I was holding Bobby's arm – not because I was shaky on my feet, but because I'd been a little chilly. His warm body felt nice.

"When will they release you?" he asked.

"Tomorrow morning, thank God. I hate hospitals."

"Hate?"

"Okay, not hate. They're not on my list of favorite places. That better? Plus, I'm looking forward to getting back to my coffee habit. Alcohol, too."

"Mm-hmm."

I'd been hoping Bobby would take the hint and offer to buy me coffee or a drink – both would be even better. But he seemed oblivious.

We reached the first turn. Bobby paused and looked at me. "Keep going?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm good."

In the final weeks of my pregnancy, when I had to stop going into the squad room, Bobby had made a point of calling me and sending text messages pretty regularly. He even visited me at home once, and we were making a lot of progress as friends. I didn't want to mess up our partnership, but it was nice to feel like we got along well even outside the NYPD. I tried not to think too far beyond that. Deakins could never find out what was going on. And actually, hardly anything was going on!

Talking about work was a safe topic. I asked, "What's happening with the video game guy?"

"His wife got him a lawyer; he made a plea deal with Carver."

"He killed that girl because he thought his buddy wasn't paying enough attention to him?"

Bobby didn't answer right away. We kept up our slow pace, and he finally said, "He, um, he did research on me..."

"On you?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too hard – all those headlines about Croyden, you know."

"Seriously?" Even the mention of that nasty business with Nicole Wallace spiked my blood pressure. I looked up at Bobby, and he shrugged kind of sheepishly.

He said, "He thought... he tried to point me at a former co-worker who, you know... divorce, child support issues..."

That was the exact situation Nicole had used against Bobby, and he'd stepped right into her trap.

"But...?" I prompted him to go on.

"But... I remembered what you said back then about listening, and then I saw right through the smokescreen. I heard your voice in my head, Eames."

Was Bobby joking about hearing voices? I looked up again – sure enough, he was smirking at me! "I can't believe you said that, Bobby!"

We'd made it to the third turn. There were gurneys and wheel chairs and equipment carts lined up in this hallway, which didn't leave much space for side-by-side walking. As we reached the first gurney, Bobby eased his arm around me and held me closer. It was the logical thing to do, or else we'd have to go single file. I wasn't going to complain about the extra body heat, either.

Bobby didn't say anything, but he was holding me pretty close. Maybe all my what-if thinking over the past month hadn't just been from my crazy hormones?

I couldn't think of a thing to say as we slowly moved down the hallway.

We made the final turn, and there was Jackie, jogging toward us from the elevators.

"Hey, Alex!" she called. "Looks like you're feeling better." She nodded to Bobby. "Hi – thanks for dragging her out of that bed." From the look on her face, I knew exactly what my sister was thinking: my partner came to visit me, he had his arm around me, so there had to be something going on between us!

Bobby let go of me, but didn't move away. "Hi, Jackie," he said. "No, she said she needed the walk. Right?" He smiled cheerfully. He had no clue.

"Oh, of course!" Jackie said, and I gave her my most severe will-you-shut-up glare. She just smiled back at me, and then checked her watch. "Did they say when they're bringing down the baby?"

I didn't have to answer, because the elevator doors opened with a ping, and we heard the rolling wheels of baby carts, or whatever they call those things. Jackie forgot everything else for the moment. She rushed into my room to wash her hands, and by the time Jonathan was rolled in she was ready to scoop him up.

Bobby whispered to me, "I should go."

But I caught his arm. "No, you haven't even gotten a good look at him yet. Stay a little – he'll finish off the bottle pretty quickly, and then you can hold him."

I thought Jackie had tuned us out completely, but she heard that last part. Her head snapped around to look at me, and I had to laugh at the panic in her face. Was she worried about germs?

I heaved myself back into bed. "Yeah, you heard me," I said to her. "Hey, Bobby, did I ever tell you about the time Jackie and I fed our kid brother dirt?"

Jackie made a choking sound, and turned to the baby, adjusting the bottle in his mouth and cuddling him closer. Jonathan really was a cute little guy in his light blue cap, wrapped in his yellow receiving blanket.

"Dirt?" Bobby pulled the sheet up over my legs.

"Yep," I said. "Regular old garden dirt. Danny was probably six months or so, and Mom let us feed the baby. Needless to say, she didn't watch as closely as she should have."

"It wasn't my idea!" Jackie said.

Bobby looked delighted. "Eames, Alex – you did it?" He sat down beside my bed.

I shrugged. "At the time, I thought the stuff tasted pretty good. But my point here," I said, nodding at my sister, "is that Danny turned out perfectly healthy, and he's a big strong fireman, so you are going to let Uncle Bobby hold Jonathan, and you're not going to worry about germs."

"I'll wash my hands," Bobby said.

* * *

><p>The red light on my answering machine at home was blinking, but the phone rang before I got around to listening to the messages. I saw the caller ID and picked up. "Hi, Dad," I said.<p>

"Good, you're home," he said. "I wasn't sure when they were going to let you out of the hospital."

"Nine-thirty," I said. "Jackie and Mike brought me home, and they left with the baby, uh, maybe half an hour ago."

"Oh. I called her, too, but I couldn't find any of you at home." He sounded worried.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," he said, but he didn't sound good.

"I can come over this afternoon." More and more these days Dad let his refrigerator empty out completely before he thought about food shopping. I didn't really want to go out, but it looked like I'd have to. I said, "I'll stop at the grocery on my way."

"No, it's not that," he said. "I've got food." He cleared his throat. "Is, uh, is your partner there with you?"

"Goren? No, why would he be here?" Although... I'd dropped enough hints about coffee that he ought to be on my doorstep with an extra-large extra-dark blend for me.

"Look, Alex, I'm worried about you," Dad said. "You can't be carrying on with Bobby."

"What!"

"I mean it, honey. It's gonna land both of you in trouble."

I raised my eyes to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Dad, first of all, I'm not carrying on with him. Second–"

"Didn't he come to the hospital to see you?"

"So? My partner visits me in the hospital after I gave birth to your grandson, and you assume that we're... Wait, how do you know who visited me in the hospital!" I was going to have to kill my sister. "Geez, Dad, you're the worst gossip I know!"

"And didn't you tell your sister he was Uncle Bobby to the baby?" Dad obviously had his list of points to make, and nothing I said was going to stop him. He'd probably even written them down.

I was so annoyed I pulled the phone away from my ear for a couple seconds, took a deep breath and paced around a little before I replied. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation. What did it mean when us kids all called your partner Uncle Bill? Huh?"

"That was different," he said. "And before, Bobby was answering your phone for you – how does that look? I know you don't mean anything serious by it, but it's got to stop before Jimmy Deakins finds out."

That threat was meant to scare me, but it made me mad.

"Dad, so help me," I said with my teeth clenched, "if you spread false gossip about your own daughter...!" I had to pause and pace again to keep from cursing. "Listen to me: Nothing is going on between me and Goren. Nothing. We're partners. We're friends. That's it."

"You swear it?"

"Yes, Dad! Cross my heart!"

"If I find out you two are-"

"Goodbye!" I banged the phone down hard.

I was so angry at my father and his ridiculous accusations! I was tempted to call Bobby and invite him over for dinner, just to spite Dad. After a few minutes of stomping around my house I decided that wasn't the best plan. My doctor had recommended that I hold off alcohol for another week, so getting drunk was out, too.

I ended up making myself my first pot of real coffee in nine months. When it was all brewed, I filled my favorite mug and toasted myself. It tasted so good I almost got over Dad's call.

In fact, by the time I was on my second cup I had a good laugh. With that kind of welcome home, I thought, at least I wouldn't need to worry about post-partum depression or separation anxiety or any of the problems my doctor had discussed. I'd be too ticked off at my family to be depressed.

I looked at the hyacinth Bobby had given me – I'd set it on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. I was going to do my best to keep it alive, but God help us if my sister ever found out it was from Bobby.

The phone rang again. If it was my father I was ready to ignore the call. I looked at the ID screen and picked up with a big smile.

"Hey, Eames," Bobby said. "Everything okay?"

.


	6. Over the Line

**OVER THE LINE**

_Setting: after S04/E07 Magnificat_

* * *

><p>Eames was irritated. I only had one glimpse out of the corner of my eye: she and Mr. Carver were watching us from across the courtroom. But I was in the middle of introducing Leanne Colson to my buddy Rodney, who's a children's rights attorney, so I couldn't pay attention to them. Carver was on his own.<p>

Once Mrs. Colson realized she had a chance of gaining guardianship of her grandson, Adam Whitlock, she had a lot of questions for Rodney. It was great to see her sadness about her daughter turn around into eagerness and hope.

The plan to help her claim guardianship had formed as Eames and I vented our frustration about Adam's father. Paul Whitlock wasn't legally answerable for the devastation of his family, but he'd made his wife's life miserable, and had stood back as she sank into depression to the point she attempted suicide, planting a bomb in her own car. If Paul had made even a tiny effort to help Doreen, their other three sons would probably still be alive. In my book that put most of the blame squarely on Paul.

As Mrs. Colson and Rodney kept talking, I glanced over at Eames again. She didn't look angry this time – now she was kind of amused. Our eyes met for a second, and she arched her eyebrows. I tilted my head, inviting her to join us, but she cut her eyes over at Carver. Now I was really curious to find out what was going on.

When I looked over the third time, Carver was leaving, and Eames was annoyed again. Whatever the problem was, she shook it off and smiled as she stepped up next to me.

I shifted a couple inches to expand our little group for Eames, and just barely stopped myself from putting my arm around her waist. It was completely spontaneous. My hand moved toward her, and I panicked and ended up scratching my neck in a really clumsy way.

Where did that come from? She'd kill me if I tried that move on her! Fortunately no one noticed, and our conversation went on.

People were filtering into the courtroom for the next hearing, so we had to get out. Rodney didn't really need me and Eames any more, but he invited us to meet with him and Mrs. Colson at his office the next day. He offered to drive Mrs. Colson to her hotel.

I was shaking hands with Rodney when Eames' phone started buzzing in her pocket. She must have set it to vibrate for court; she turned away to answer it.

I waited for her in the hallway.

When she came out, she grinned at me. "What was that smooth move back there?" she asked.

My heart sank – of course she'd noticed. "Uh, just, nothing... I wasn't..." I had no idea how to explain it to her. I shrugged.

Eames laughed lightly.

Time to change the subject. I asked, "What did Mr. Carver say to make you angry?"

"Oh." She frowned. "You'd think after all these years working together," she said, shaking her head.

"What?"

"Umm, you know what?" she said, shoving her hands into her pockets. "How about I buy you a drink?"

"Don't we need to get back to One PP?"

"Nah. The call was from Captain Deakins. I gave him the update on the Whitlocks, and he said we're done for the day. You want to go?"

"Sure, good idea," I said, and looked at her closely. "Is there a problem with Carver?"

She tsked. "Not really, but... let's get that drink."

* * *

><p>"Here's my point," Eames said. "Why would Carver be surprised that you had a good idea? Calling in your lawyer friend is a great idea, actually. There's no way Paul Whitlock should have custody of Adam. But Carver, he just..." We were side-by-side at the bar, and she leaned into my arm as she spoke. "Think about it, Bobby."<p>

"I generally don't think about Carver," I replied. "Outside of work."

We were on our second drink. I still had enough self-control to keep from putting my arm around her – but if we had a third round I was pretty sure what would happen.

"Funny," she said. "But really... He was totally shocked when I told him who Rodney was. Was it so impossible that you'd do something nice for Grandma?"

I smiled and ran a finger around the rim of my glass.

"How many times has he been suspicious of us?" she asked, patting my elbow. "Mostly you, but both of us. How many times?"

"Mmm, a lot. I haven't counted."

"Right, a lot. He tilts his head down and looks at us over his glasses – you know that look." Eames did a good impression of Carver's severe stare. "Any time we use a perfectly legal trick or... or..."

"Or alternative method?" I said, and finished my drink.

"Yes, alternative," she said. "Thank you. When we get the confession, Mr. Carver is there to take the win."

The slight change in her speech had begun. It was interesting that she still seemed sober, but her words had a different sound, a different tone.

"Well," I said, "it's his job..."

"No, see, because then he shakes his finger at us for not coloring inside the lines." Eames sniffed. "He wants it both ways."

The bartender paused in front of us and gestured to our empty glasses in a silent question.

I shook my head and looked at Eames. "Ginger ale," she said. I asked for water.

She sat up straight again and looked around the bar while we got our new drinks. "Let's sit over there," she said, pointing to a small round table out of the way.

I paid the rest of our tab and followed her. "You don't need to go?" I asked as I sat down. Not that I wanted to leave – I was happy to stay here with her as long as she liked.

She shook her head. "I was going to visit my nephew," she replied, "but my sister sent a text that Mike's parents were coming, so... I'll see him tomorrow."

I nodded. "You can have him all to yourself."

"Damn right." Eames sipped her ginger ale. "Is it just me, or is he a really cute baby?"

I knew the correct answer. "Cute baby." She gave me a big smile, scooted her chair around the table and opened her phone to show me pictures of Jonathan. I let my arm rest on the back of her chair.

She talked about her nephew for a while, and I was surprised when she returned to the topic of Mr. Carver. I knew the alcohol was wearing off because she'd gone back to her normal speech pattern.

"Eames," I said, "why does it bother you that he gives us a hard time? He's been like that as long as I've known him. And I've, uh, you know, colored outside the lines a lot." We were still sitting close, although I'd taken my arm off her chair. It was comfortable this way. We didn't have to raise our voices to hear each other.

She was quiet. I expected she'd shrug it off and decide it was time to leave.

"Sometimes I get mad at you, too," she said. "...Like with John Tagman."

I looked away. She'd given me the cold shoulder for a solid week after that horrible case. There was no outcome that could have been satisfying. I still thought I was right to let Tagman express his remorse – it wasn't a trick – but I was afraid that anything I said now would set her off.

She touched my arm. "Don't worry. I'm not bringing it up to argue."

That was a relief.

"See," she said, "I realized if I complain about Mr. Carver – you know, taking the good results and criticizing the methods... well, I shouldn't do the same thing myself."

"You're not like that, Eames!" I'd never thought she was using me to succeed or get ahead. When it came to that, people had already told us I was probably holding her back.

She faced me more fully. "I have to be honest with you, and if it comes out as criticism, it's just... how I see things. That's how I am."

"I know that, and, and, it's a great thing about you."

Here eyebrows arched up. "And..." she said with a smirk. "Next time you'll do things my way?"

We both laughed, and I was tempted to kiss her – just on the cheek. However, her phone rang.

Eames checked the ID and flipped it open. "Hey, Jackie."

I started to get up to give her privacy for the call with her sister, but she caught my arm and shook her head.

"Yeah, I got it," Eames said to her sister. "No problem for tomorrow... I had the phone turned off because we were in court... No, we didn't have to. It was a sentencing... Right now? We're at a bar halfway between the court and One PP..." She rolled her eyes and made a mock exasperated face. "With Goren, of course... Because we were thirsty after sitting in court all afternoon."

Her expression became darker; her exasperation was real now. "Jackie," she said, "I'm not going to talk about this with you now... Yes... Yeah, oh."

Jackie was obviously asking about me. I was amused at Eames' attempt to hide it. It was her own fault – she could have let me leave the table.

The sisters' conversation shifted to the baby, and Eames talked cheerfully for a couple minutes. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said. "I have a bunch of coupons for diapers... Okay, bye."

As she hung up I looked her right in the face. "Soo... What did she say about me?" I asked.

Eames shook her head. She was embarrassed. She finally said, "My sister has been sitting home too long with no company but the baby and soap operas. She's imagining things. That's all I'm going to say."

"Oh, you mean imagining that we," I said, waving a finger between me and Eames. "That we're... seeing each other?" In my mind I recalled Jackie's expression at the hospital after the baby was born, and suddenly I had a new understanding of her words then.

I'd hardly ever seen Eames blush. Her cheeks went bright pink – it was a good look for her – and she turned away from me. Obviously, the topic hit a raw nerve for her.

It must have been the alcohol in my system that let me bypass common sense, which told me to shut up. Instead I asked, "Would that be bad, if we were? ...Seeing each other?"

Before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

Oh.

She completely froze.

I'd crossed the line. That wasn't what she wanted. Or was it? I couldn't read her expression, so I sat back and waited.

Finally she cleared her throat. "Have I thought about..." She paused for a deep breath. "...about us seeing each other? Honestly? Yes, I have."

I felt a pop of anticipation, but it faded quickly. I'd been teasing. If Eames were to say she wanted to date me, I'd probably panic.

She continued, "Bobby, we have a good thing going in Major Case. I don't want to screw it up."

"Eames, I'm sorry-" I began, but she held up a hand to stop me.

"But I also don't want us to feel weird or uncomfortable with each other," she said. "This..." She touched her cheek where I'd kissed her. "This isn't a problem, as long as we understand..."

I nodded. "Where the line is."

She grinned and held out her hand to shake. It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but I knew she was right. It had to be enough, at least for now.

.


	7. Adrenaline Rush

**ADRENALINE RUSH**

_Setting: end of S04/E13 Stress Position_

* * *

><p>I don't know what scared me more: the thought Bobby might be dead inside the Brooklyn prison, with me unable to reach him, or the realization that I'd experienced this exact same pit-of-the-stomach terror once before. It was when my husband lay dying in the hospital.<p>

The feeling didn't make any sense, but I couldn't deny it. I couldn't stop it.

Bobby had gone in with Mike Logan to bring out Logan's girlfriend, Gina, who worked in the dispensary. Standing in the freezing cold outside the locked-down prison, with the alarm blaring through the darkness, my uncontrollable shivering was partly from cold and partly from fear.

It was a good thing Mr. Carver was there to lecture the guard on the other side of the fence about the power of subpoenas and his duty to let us in. I'd have had trouble unlocking the muscles of my jaw.

I tried to stop imagining Bobby laid out on the coroner's stainless steel table. I tried to convince myself that he was alive and unhurt. I told myself over and over that this was not like Joe's shooting and death. In my mind I cursed Captain Deakins for not letting me go me go in with my partner.

Finally the alarm stopped. The guard opened the gate for me and Mr. Carver, but wouldn't let us approach the building until he got the all-clear from his counterpart inside.

Everyone stopped talking. The silence was just as disturbing as the noise. What was happening in there?

I was getting ready to charge the entrance when I saw a seam of light as the heavy metal door slowly opened.

The first person to step out was Bobby! His head turned left and right until he saw me.

"Thank God!" Mr. Carver said.

I would have said the same, but I suddenly felt dizzy with relief. I spread my feet a little wider and took deep breaths, keeping my eyes on Bobby. He seemed uninjured.

The door opened further, and Mike Logan and Gina emerged. They all looked stunned but otherwise okay.

Suddenly there was a rush of EMTs and police officers toward the prison. Bobby and Logan spoke to them, pointing back inside and giving directions. Mr. Carver's entourage of attorneys flooded in next, armed with subpoenas.

I finally pulled myself together enough to move. Carver reached them first. "Detectives," Carver said, "I've never been so happy to see you. What happened in there?"

Logan answered, "It's those four guards. They've been keeping the ghost prisoners separate, torturing them. They killed Kenna to keep him from talking. Those SOBs locked the place down, and were going after Gina if we hadn't showed up – and if Goren hadn't talked them down." He put his arm around Gina.

Carver continued to question them. They confirmed what we'd hoped for before going in: three of the guards still had enough of a conscience to do the right thing. With persuasion from Bobby they'd abandoned their ringleader.

As I listened I stayed focused on Bobby. He was agitated: he looked like he needed to be pacing. That was normal for him after a tough situation; this had been tough times ten. I was sure he'd been cool and confident while he was reasoning with the thug guards. He was good at keeping all his fear or anger inside. Now that the crisis was past it was coming to the surface painfully – that was normal for any cop.

But the difference this time was that I was an emotional wreck on the inside. On the outside I hoped I was keeping it together. Once or twice I thought Bobby could see through my mask.

We all watched as the secret prisoners were escorted out, wrapped in blankets against the cold. Some of them looked like skeletons, and many were limping. Could anything make up for what had been done to them? At least they were alive, and they'd get to testify against the men who'd tortured them, who were led out in handcuffs.

Bobby was safe, but there was still a knot of stress in my chest. I needed to get alone with him so we could talk. From the way he kept looking at me, I thought he wanted the same thing.

Two minutes after Logan left with Gina, Carver's people started bringing out boxes of paper records. I figured Carver would stay and oversee the operation, but he left one of his deputies in charge and asked to come back to One PP with us.

So much for getting alone with Bobby.

* * *

><p>"We're standing right outside your office," Mr. Carver said into his cell phone, talking to Captain Deakins. He had a finger pressed against the other ear, even though the MCS squad room was quiet at eleven o'clock at night. In fact, the place was deserted. "Albany has suddenly shown an interest in the case... Yes, and I fully expect to hear that the federal government is interested, too... Oh, I will. No question about it," he said. "I spoke to Arthur Branch, and he agrees. The prison records are on their way to his office, and that's where they'll stay... All right. I'll tell them."<p>

Carver snapped his phone shut and looked at us. "Captain Deakins will be here in twenty minutes." He checked his watch. "I need to make sure those boxes are secure." He opened his phone again and began dialing as he wandered into one of the glass-walled visitor offices. He closed the door behind him and sat at the table.

I said, "I noticed Carver forgot to mention that Logan bolted. The Captain'll love that."

"He'll turn up." Something about the way Bobby rolled his shoulders in a tired stretch sparked off a flashback of my panicky feeling from earlier. Bobby hadn't spoken much since leaving the prison, and now I wondered if those guards had hurt him after all, and he'd been hiding it.

"Are you okay?" I asked. I didn't care that my voice sounded squeaky with worry.

"Yeah," he said with another shrug. "It's just... finally catching up to me, I guess."

His answer didn't do a thing to relieve my concerns. I quickly glanced at the office where Mr. Carver sat – he was deep in a phone discussion, off in his own world.

I caught Bobby's wrist and pulled him toward the interrogation rooms.

"Eames? What...?" He didn't resist – though by that point I had enough adrenaline in my system to overpower him if he did.

I swung open the nearest door and led him in. I didn't bother closing the door before I grabbed both of his arms. Physical touch accelerated my anxiety, and suddenly my delayed reaction was out of control.

"Did they hurt you in there? Don't lie to me!"

Bobby shook his head. "No, I told you. They were-"

I shook him. "I know what you said, but you look... you look like you're hurt. Are you? You have to tell me!"

"No, I'm not – honestly." He leaned down to look at me closely, and his hands touched my elbows. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"No, dammit, I'm not okay!" I yelled. I immediately dropped the volume on my voice, but not the intensity. "I should have been in there with you. Partners are supposed to stay together. Instead, I'm in the dark, locked out, while you..." My throat closed up.

Bobby's mouth opened, but no sound came out. I gripped his arms even tighter.

I cleared my throat and continued, "You could have been killed in there, and all I could do was stand around in with my stupid hands in my stupid pockets!" I was back to yelling.

"I didn't..." Bobby was staring at me with a shocked expression. "I, I missed having you there. Logan didn't, didn't pick up on my... you know, how we..."

I glared at him, although I knew full well it hadn't been his decision to go in with Logan.

"For a few minutes," he said slowly, and I saw he was remembering. "When the alarm... when the gate locked, for a little while it was... it was..."

"Dangerous," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "Off-the-chart dangerous, and I wasn't there to have your back, Bobby! What if it all went south? I'm supposed to..." I couldn't go on. I shook him again, hard, and my fingernails dug into his arms; even through his suit coat he had to feel their sharpness.

I knew I was going to cry. I didn't want Bobby to see me lose it, but running away would be cowardly, and with my luck I'd bump right into Carver. The best way to hide was to move even closer, so I hugged him, tilting my face downward against his chest.

His arms closed around me. For a while we were both really tense, and I simply concentrated on getting my tears under control - unsuccessfully. But then I felt the warmth of his body, and I relaxed a little. He began to rub my back and shoulders slowly, and all of a sudden I had a totally different emotional problem going on!

Instead of unstoppable fear, this time it was desire that took over my feelings.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered. He sounded as traumatized as I was.

Maybe I should have backed off right then, but I leaned into him even more.

How did we get to this point? I'd come frighteningly close to losing him, and this mutual comfort was a natural response to the whole situation. That was logical. I didn't analyze myself any further – I definitely didn't want to probe the comparison to my husband. No, for now I'd just enjoy the relief of having my partner back alive and well. We'd sort out the feelings later.

I patted Bobby's back, and was just getting ready to look up at him when I heard a footstep in the hallway.

Oh no.

We jumped apart, no doubt looking completely guilty. Bobby's back had been to the open doorway, so I saw first – it was Captain Deakins, and I could tell he'd seen plenty.

Damn. Hadn't Carver said twenty minutes? My face had to be a puffy, teary wreck.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the captain braced a hand on his hip, rubbed his forehead and looked down at the floor. "I'm choosing to believe this is a release of tension," he said, "or something like that. Nothing else is going to happen." He pivoted toward the squad room. "Nothing. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," we both said.

"Good." Deakins strode away. He called back to us, "My office. Now."

We stood there side by side for a few more seconds. This was my fault. I was the one who freaked out.

Bobby said, "Sorry."

"Me, too. It, umm..." I sniffled and wiped at my eyes.

He fished around in his pockets and gave me his handkerchief.

I managed a chuckle. "I can imagine how fabulous I look right now. I'd better hit the ladies' room."

I felt his fingers on my arm as I moved away. I paused – just out of reach. We couldn't take a chance on Deakins returning.

"You do," Bobby said, shuffling his feet sheepishly. "Look fabulous. All the time."

I pressed the handkerchief to my cheek. "No, don't," I said. "We can't." I ran for the ladies' room.

So much for sorting out our feelings.

.


	8. Buzz

**BUZZ**

_Setting: after S05/E08 In The Wee Small Hours_

* * *

><p>"Earth to Eames!"<p>

I looked to my left: Logan had a devilish grin on his face. He must have been calling my name for a while. I'd been staring down the hallway of the court building, although the person I wanted to see was long gone.

"What's your problem," I said, frowning at him.

"Uhh, no problem," he said. "Not now, anyway – case closed, right?"

"Right. Closed."

I should have been relieved that it was over. It took four detectives working overtime for weeks, but we'd revealed the actual sequence of events around the murder of the high school girl from Iowa. In the process, a judge's family and career had completely unraveled. That part wasn't really unusual – how many times have we seen that murder devastates the families of both victim and perp.

But this wasn't anything like a usual case. On his way down the drain, Judge Garrett did his best to bring down Logan, Carolyn Barek, Bobby and me along with him. His attacks were desperate and contemptible – he could have caused a lot of damage.

Could have caused? Could have? Standing outside the courtroom, I wondered how much damage Garrett did cause me and my partner. My stomach turned again.

I should have expected to be hit – but an ambush on the witness stand? When Garrett's lawyer made me read the transfer request I'd written more than four years ago, I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. How on earth did Garrett get hold of that letter? I needed to have a conversation with Captain Deakins.

"So, Eames," Logan said, loosening his tie. "Barek says she knows a great bar in Brooklyn. You in?"

I wanted to chase my partner and apologize to him again. Bobby had been kind and understanding about the nasty letter – much kinder than I deserved, much more understanding than I would have been if the situation was reversed. But he'd walked away, which left me wondering how he really felt.

I shrugged and said, "I don't know..."

"Come on, you need to unwind after that..." Logan jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the courtroom. "...that inquisition. We all need it."

"Mmm..." I wasn't going to be able to unwind if I didn't clear the air between me and Bobby.

"This is just for us – the four of us," Logan said. "Goren said he'd meet us there. You can come with me and Barek."

It wasn't exactly what I wanted, but if it gave me another chance to tell Bobby how sorry I was...

"Okay," I said on a sigh. "Are you the designated driver, or is Carolyn?"

Logan snorted. "That would be the motorman on the J line. Leave the car at One PP."

* * *

><p>"Right up to the end," Carolyn said, "I was feeling sorry for the mother. You know, putting up with her husband's infidelity, watching her son try to emulate his father's sexual conquests..."<p>

Carolyn was sitting next to Bobby, across from me and Logan in a booth, and she kept leaning into Bobby. She did it every time she spoke, and then she'd look up at him, like she wanted to impress him or make sure he agreed. I didn't know if that was just the way she acted after a few drinks, or if she was coming on to my partner, or both. Either way, it was starting to bug me.

Bobby didn't seem bothered. I knew he wasn't all the way drunk; he was a little out of focus, quieter than normal, and relaxed. Fortunately he didn't avoid looking at me, and he didn't seem upset with me, which was a huge relief. I still wanted a chance to talk with him alone.

Logan said, "She was going to sit there and let one of them go down for Bethany Lunden's murder. I thought my mother was a winner..." He took a long gulp of his beer.

"All those years of humiliation," Bobby said. "She finally reached the last straw... her breaking point."

Carolyn leaned against him again. Seriously? Was she trying to sit in his lap?

I said, "You know, I'd have expected she'd take it out on Garrett himself, and not the girl he'd just abused."

Logan tapped my arm. "Good point, Eames. I'd prefer to investigate that murder over the one we got. Hey, Barek," he said, "if you're trying to get out to go to the bathroom, you're not going to push Goren out of your way like that."

I couldn't help laughing along with Logan.

Bobby blinked and turned toward her. "Uhh, sorry, did you want to...?" He started to slide out of the booth seat.

Logan and I laughed even harder. Even Carolyn laughed – and she finally sat up straight.

"Sorry about that," she said. "I get a little off-balance when I drink. But now that you mention it..." She slid out. "Come on, Alex. If you stay, Mike will start asking what women talk about in the Ladies' Room."

"Aww, now we'll never know!" Logan said.

I elbowed him and he let me out as well. As I stood up I said, "No mystery. We get phone numbers off the bathroom walls, and write new ones. You should expect a few calls soon."

When we got back I took the seat next to Bobby. He looked at me a little curiously, but didn't say anything. Carolyn didn't seem to care, so maybe I'd been imagining her coming on to Bobby.

"One more round?" Logan asked.

"I'd better stop," Carolyn said, shaking her head. "Otherwise I might not hear the alarm clock in the morning." I noticed she didn't show any sign of leaning now that she was next to her own partner. Busted.

"I'm in," I said, and looked up at Bobby. He nodded, and Logan waved for the waiter.

* * *

><p>We broke up the party before it got too late. The captain hadn't given us any time off, so we all had to be at our desks the next day.<p>

The cool air on the sidewalk outside felt good, but I was still pretty buzzed. I'd drunk more than usual. I hoped I'd sober up on the subway ride back to Manhattan. Bobby was watching me carefully, and I knew he was wondering if I was steady on my feet.

"I'll ride back with you, Eames," Bobby said out of nowhere. The rest of us all turned to him in surprise, and he continued quickly. "...because Barek..." He gestured to Carolyn. "You live nearby."

"Do I?" She tilted her head at him, which reminded me of Bobby's head-tilt.

I felt a giggle coming on, so I coughed.

"Well..." Bobby waved an arm toward the bar's entrance. "You recommended this place, and they seemed to know you..."

"Uhh, yeah," Carolyn said, nodding. "Yes, you're right." She looked at me. "He never turns it off?"

"If there's a switch, I haven't found it," I said, and immediately realized how suggestive that sounded.

Logan nearly fell down, and we all ended up laughing like crazy.

Bobby was the first to catch his breath. He said, "So, Logan, maybe you want to... um, make sure Barek gets home okay, and that's... that's, that's... I'll just go with Eames to One PP."

"Bobby," I said, "you don't have to go all the way to Manhattan and then come all the way back." But I didn't say it with any force, because I'd rather not make the trip on my own when I wasn't quite sober.

Plus, if he came with me I'd have my chance to explain that stupid transfer request.

* * *

><p>Bobby and I got onto a subway car that was mostly empty. I waited till the train was away from the station, and then turned toward him.<p>

I said, "That letter..." I saw he was going to brush off my apology, so I touched his shoulder. "Let me just finish, Bobby, and then we don't have to bring it up again if you don't want, okay?"

"'Kay."

It would be easier to say my piece without staring him in the face, so I sat straight in the seat. We were side by side – although not too close – facing across the car as it bumped along.

"I never filed that request," I said. "Not officially. I handed it to Deakins, but he persuaded me to give it – us – more time. I honestly forgot about it. I have no idea how Garrett's people got a copy. I'm so sorry, Bobby."

"You don't need to apologize. I'm not surprised you wrote it," he said. "I mean, I pushed the limits all the time, and we were butting heads a lot at first. I thought... a couple times I thought you were ready to walk out, or kick me out."

"Well, I got over that hissy fit a long time ago."

He turned and flashed a grin at me. "So... you acquired a taste for me?"

I guess I had more alcohol in my system than I realized, because that comment set me off laughing helplessly. I must have looked like a junior higher.

The closest people to us in the subway car were three young Indian women – probably college students. They glanced at us and went back to whispering to each other.

A kid down at the far side of the car moved to a seat close to the girls. He had the standard uniform of losers: black hoodie, black ball cap worn sideways, and cargo pants three sizes too big, ready to fall down. He couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Hey, pretty ladies," he said to the girls, smiling and showing off a gold tooth-cap. "You havin' fun tonight?"

The girls gave him cold looks and turned to each other again, but he kept talking, hitting on them. Bobby and I watched, ready to intervene if the kid got too aggressive.

Two ladies a few seats away clearly had the same instinct. One of them called to the kid, "Hey punk, you even stupider than you look, if you can't see they ain't interested!" She and her friend looked like they were on their way into the city to night shift jobs.

"I ain't talkin' to you, Mami," the kid said. "Me and these ladies, we just havin' a conversation, right?" He moved one seat closer to the girls.

The girls looked worried now. I called out to the kid. "Hey, time for you to move away – beat it."

He looked over at me and flashed his gold grin again. "Okay, sure. Don't worry, I got time for you too, beautiful." He hopped to the seat directly across from me. "We got a understandin' goin' on here."

I stared at him as though he was from outer space. Was this idiot trying to hit on me?

The woman called, "Your face is gonna understand pain! Don't you see her boyfriend sittin' right there?" She and her friend chuckled together.

Bobby shifted his feet, but I patted his knee to let him know I had it under control. This kid was too dumb to be true.

I already had my hand around my detective shield in my pocket. "Do you understand this?" I asked as I held it out toward him.

"Or this?" Bobby added, showing his shield, too.

The punk's reaction was predictable and funny. He suddenly turned into the most innocent, polite, best-behaved citizen of New York. He hitched up his pants and decided he wanted to ride in a different car. The two ladies had a good laugh, and the girls thanked us as they got off at the next stop.

Bobby rested his arm across my shoulders, and I made myself comfortable against his side. Within a minute my mind went back to that awful moment on the witness stand, and to my apology. Our discussion had been interrupted by the punk. I wanted to answer Bobby's question, even though he'd asked it teasingly.

"Bobby," I said quietly, and he turned to look at me. "I'm glad we're partners. I have acquired... you know, acquired a taste for you."

He nodded and slowly leaned toward me. It took me a second to realize he was going to kiss me! Well, what kind of response did I expect? In another second I leaned toward him, too.

We didn't get too intense, but we let it stretch into a long, sweet kiss. After we parted, I rested against him again. For the rest of our ride we didn't speak; Bobby kissed me a few more times.

The whole thing was a dream. We never acted like this, but somehow it was familiar.

When we reached our stop I felt like the alcohol was out of my system, but a cup of coffee would be a good idea before driving. As we walked to a donut shop within sight of the subway exit, Bobby's hand rested on my shoulder. I touched his fingers.

We sat down inside the shop, across from each other, and when I looked at him I knew the moment had passed – we were back to being cops. Partners and friends, but cops first of all.

It was just as well. Jackie always smiled and waggled her eyebrows anytime I talked about Bobby. My dad still nagged me now and then about the dangers of "carrying on" with my partner. All he had to do was talk to one of his retired cop buddies, and it would reach Deakins' ears in no time.

But still... Kissing Bobby had been easy. He was the most comfortable, most compatible person I'd known since...

No. I shook off that thought. The last time I compared him to Joe, we ended up getting a lecture from Deakins. We can't go there again.

Partner. Partner. Partner.

.


	9. In The Gap

**IN THE GAP**

_Setting: after S05/E21 On Fire_

* * *

><p>"We should track down the rest of those email threads," I said.<p>

"Bobby, he's not going to change his mind," Eames said, and there it was again – her eyes got all shiny with tears. She looked away and blotted at her eyes with a napkin.

I had to take a few deep breaths, too. At least we weren't sitting in the squad room.

Captain Deakins had said we were the first to know of his resignation from NYPD, and then he'd kicked us out of his office. He told us to get back to work, but it was impossible. We sat at our desks for maybe five minutes doing absolutely nothing, and then Eames dragged me out of One PP to the nearest restaurant within walking distance – a Chinese place we both liked.

She'd asked for the table farthest to the back; she must have known we'd end up like this. The waiter had handed us menus and left a pot of hot tea and two small cups.

I cleared my throat and hoped my voice wouldn't break. "I know, but... um..." I coughed again. "It's better if we know all the players in this, uh..."

"Set-up," she said. "Railroading. Throwing under the bus. Gas-lighting. Stabbing in the back." She got angrier with each term. "You think they might come after us, too?"

I answered quietly. "I don't think it's likely, but it's better to know."

Eames stood, and for half a second I thought she was leaving. Instead, she shoved her chair ninety degrees around the tiny square table closer to me. As she sat down she pointed at my leather folder.

"Is it in there?" she asked. "The email stuff?"

If she wanted to get to work right away, that was fine. I set it on the table between us, but just then the waiter rolled the dim sum cart to our table.

She tapped the folder. "We can do this later."

We each chose a few of the small dishes from the cart, and the waiter arranged them in front of us. Eames could usually demolish a good number of dumplings, but it wasn't long before she set down her fork.

"Two things bother me the most," she said, and tossed the hair back from her face. "There's the unfairness, the, the..."

"The injustice," I added quietly.

"Yes. For all the people in the NYPD who actually deserve to be pushed into early retirement... It's insane."

"The Captain doesn't want to drag anybody else down."

"I know," she said, "but are there really any innocent bystanders any more?" She took a careful sip of tea. "The second thing is kind of selfish, but I dread getting used to a new captain, you know?"

"Oh, a new captain," I said. I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. "How soon?"

She shrugged. "No idea. They might send an interim."

For some reason, her comment spawned a completely different idea. I froze as I was reaching for another dumpling with my chopsticks.

Of course Eames noticed. "What?" she asked.

I shouldn't have answered. It was usually dangerous to share spur-of-the-moment impulses.

Instead, I said, "If we don't have a captain for a while, no one will care if we, um, if you and I... go out. Deakins won't care."

She stared at me, and for a few seconds I couldn't tell if she was interested or angry. But then she grinned and laughed.

"You are such an idiot, Bobby! Here I am, crying over Captain Deakins, and all of a sudden you've got me thinking about what shoes to wear!"

I took that as a Yes, and moved my arm to the back of her chair, which made her laugh again. "What kind of shoes?" I asked. "Do you want to go dancing?"

"I'm too short for you," she said, but she looked like she wanted to go.

I let my hand rest on her shoulder and she leaned closer. I said, "No, we're just right for each other – it'll be perfect."

She shook her head, but she was happy now. "Okay," she said. "We'd better do this soon, because once the new captain comes, all bets are off. Thursday night good for you?"

The only thing I ever had on my schedule was my weekly visit with Mom, and that wasn't on Thursday night. "It's great," I said. "Can I pick you up?" I stole a quick kiss.

She smiled, but stopped me when I tried for a second kiss. "No. You tell me where, and I'll meet you. We can't get caught," she said, "especially by my family. I mean it. My sister has these ideas... Nobody can know."

"Who would I tell?" I asked.

"Whom," she said, and leaned in for another kiss.

This day had suddenly given me hope where I never expected it.

.


	10. Without Words

**WITHOUT WORDS**

_Setting: after S06/E03 Siren Call_

* * *

><p>Eames said something to me. I heard her voice, but the words didn't register.<p>

I turned toward her as she drove. She looked as stunned as I felt. I didn't reply, and it didn't seem to matter to her. I went back to staring straight ahead.

Even in this numb state I could analyze myself. I knew why I was so shaken by Ray Wisnesky. I'd sensed it almost from the start. First, there was the similarity of his wife's illness to my mother's – I couldn't think of him impassively. Then there was Eames' recent kidnapping and torture. Neither of us had recovered; I was hyper-aware of any danger to her. I probably should have gone to a counseling session, too.

We're not supposed to let an investigation become personal. Technically, Eames and I did the right things and we got to the truth, but everything felt personal. Painful. Ray's suicide completed the destruction of his family; his young daughter Emily would soon be left alone.

"Bobby?"

I realized the car wasn't moving. Eames had pulled into a parking area – we were at the shady edge of the lot, farthest from a strip of shops. There was some kind of playground right ahead of us.

"I needed to stop," she said. From the way she was gazing at me, I knew she was worried.

I wasn't in the mood for discussion.

She turned off the engine. It was a warm day; even in the shade the car heated up quickly. I opened my door and set a foot outside. I glanced back at Eames. She got out, too, and pointed to the playground, which was empty. There were a few seats along the side, and we headed there.

For a while we simply sat on a bench, listening to the sounds of passing cars and voices drifting over from the strip mall behind us. I didn't want to talk or even think about anything.

Eames' phone rang in her pocket. She checked the caller ID. "It's the Captain," she said, frowning. "Great." She looked exhausted.

I reached over and took the phone. "I'll tell him... Yeah, Goren."

Captain Ross said, "I heard about Wisnesky. What the hell happened?"

I resisted the urge to respond that if he knew about Wisnesky, he didn't need to ask what happened. Ross stepped right into these obvious inconsistencies a lot. I peeked over at Eames – she was still worried, still weary. For her sake I needed to keep it courteous.

I quietly answered, "He asked one of his fellow cops to cuff his hands in front. When they got outside Wisnesky grabbed his gun. It was over in a couple seconds."

The captain asked about our interview at the house. When I told him about Wisnesky pointing a gun at himself and us, Ross toned down his hostility.

He asked, "Were either of you hurt? Is Eames okay?"

"We're okay. He surrendered to us, but then we were forty, fifty feet away when he, uh... shot himself," I replied. "We weren't injured."

"Good job on talking him down, Goren," Ross said. "It's... there was nothing more you could have done."

Really? Maybe I could have warned that other officer about Wisnesky's history with holstered guns being snatched. Hadn't the young guy known? I sighed. "Thanks."

Ross said, "I'll deal with the locals. You and Eames were acting on my orders. Don't give them any statement without my say-so."

"Yes, sir." None of the cops or family had paid any attention to us. We'd left as the ambulance screamed into the driveway.

I hung up and told Eames what he'd said.

She looked up at the sky and shook her head. "I bet they find a way to make Officer Wisnesky the victim and Major Case the heavies. Not that I care at the moment."

I stretched my arms out on either side and let my fingers touch her shoulder.

I asked, "What do you care about at the moment?"

"You." I hadn't expected such a quick, intense answer. She said, "I know I wasn't on my game..."

"No, Alex–"

"I wasn't. Not a hundred percent. Don't bother denying it." She touched my hand as it lay on her shoulder. "You had to pick up the slack."

"It's, it's what we do for each other."

She looked up at me. "When you were in that room with him..."

I'd known she was just on the other side of the flimsy wooden door. With Wisnesky waving his gun around, she'd hardly been safer than I was. I pressed more firmly on her shoulder.

I said, "I thought he would want to spare his wife and Emily."

"Not him," Alex said, shaking her head. "This guy made the wrong choice at every step – with Ashley, with Jason Raines, with his partner, his wife... Not once did we see Wisnesky do a selfless thing. I was..." She took a deep breath. "He wanted to kill you and himself. He would have done it. And..." I felt her trembling. "...and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to help you."

We moved toward each other at the same moment. I wrapped my arms around her as she tucked her head under my chin.

This was another reason why this investigation had become so unnerving: as my partner and I grew closer it was much harder to see each other in danger. Walking in on Wisnesky was the worst possible circumstance.

I pressed my mouth against her hair and whispered, "You did help me. You –"

Her fist thumped against my chest. "Cut the crap, Bobby. I barely kept it together enough to do the job." She pressed her head against me. "I hate that I let myself feel so afraid."

I rubbed her back and shoulders. "I was afraid, too – for you," I said. "The thought of losing you... it scares me. I'm not used to feeling so, so..."

"I know," Alex replied in a slightly muffled voice. "It used to be easy to shut off the emotions, but now… I'm glad you're alive. Thank God we're both alive."

Yes. We were alive. A few months ago those words wouldn't have affected me the way they did now. My heart leapt into my throat.

When she pulled back a little to look at me, I didn't hesitate – I kissed her. In no time at all her arms were around my neck, and the emotions I'd been trying to block came rushing to the surface.

I'd kissed Alex before, but never with this kind of intensity or need. I held her as tightly as I dared. When we finally paused for breath, I realized tears were streaming from my eyes. I brushed at them with my fingers, and Alex rubbed my cheeks, too.

She held my face and we kissed again, this time with less urgency. I slowly stroked her back and sides as her fingers combed through my hair. I didn't think about what lay ahead for us – I just wanted to relish the break from numbness and frustration.

Alex seemed to understand. She rested her head on my chest and let me hold her for a long time without speaking.

She finally looked up at me. "We keep doing this," she said. "I'm not complaining, but... Is it going somewhere?"

"Mmm…" I had no idea. "Right here is pretty good." I kissed her.

"If Captain Ross ever suspects we're, uh – whatever it is," she said with a shrug. "He'll split us up, no questions asked."

I stole one more kiss.

"I'm serious, Bobby. We're not even sure what we're doing – it's not worth losing our partnership."

"We'll keep it out of the squad room."

"We have to. Deakins made a point of not asking, not wanting to know. But you realize," she said, "that we were on Captain Ross's blacklist from his first day at MCS."

"You mean I was," I said.

She shook her head. "He questioned me coming back early for this case. He's waiting for me to screw up."

I traced my thumb along her jaw line. "I don't think so. He's counting on you to keep an eye on me."

She smiled. "That's got to be–"

My cell phone rang. I was surprised it still worked, considering I'd thrown it across Ray Wisnesky's office. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the display.

"It's my mom," I said, and suddenly my contented mood faded. "I'd better, uh…" I touched Eames' shoulder lightly as I rose. I walked a few steps away before answering the call.

I took a deep breath. This wouldn't be an easy conversation. Mom was suspicious of doctors, even the ones she'd known for years at Carmel Ridge. She questioned every step of the cancer treatment.

I'd told Eames Mom was a fighter; that was true, but she fought me as well as the cancer. Every day I had to persuade her to let the oncologist do his job, and some days she refused him anyway. If she was like this when the treatment only involved a brief radiation treatment a few times a week, what would happen when she started chemo?

Today I didn't have enough energy to deal with Mom's anger and fear. I let her go on for several minutes – the same complaints, the same accusations – and then interrupted. "Mom, Mom… Mom! I'm working now. I can't talk."

"Bobby," she said, "are you listening to me? These people can't even find a vein to draw blood! I swear, Bobby–"

"Ma, we've been through this over and over. I'll call you later – soon. Okay? Bye." I flipped the phone shut, but didn't move yet. I closed my eyes and counted to ten a few times until I felt my heartbeat slow down. I was afraid of what lay ahead for Mom, and it was getting harder and harder to be strong for her.

I finally turned back toward Eames. I was grateful she didn't ask about Mom.

What was I doing, fooling around with my partner? She was still recovering from physical and mental trauma. There was a dark cloud over my head. I had no business doing anything that would screw up Eames' future. Besides, I was barely going to have time to do the job, let alone spend personal time with her. Personal time? No. It all had to go to Mom now.

"Eames," I said, "I'm sorry about…" I gestured to the spot on the bench beside her. "About that. I shouldn't have…"

She stared at me for so long I wondered if I should explain or apologize again. She finally shrugged and said, "Of course we shouldn't have. That's what I was saying. But guess what? I'm glad we did."

I took a step closer. "I mean, I'm realizing what... how much... how big a commitment my mom's treatment..." It was one of my tells: when I was emotionally worked up I spoke in sentence fragments.

"What kind of treatment is she getting?" Eames asked.

I trusted Eames, but this was just what I didn't want: broadcasting my mess of a private life. But it was my own fault – I'd mentioned Mom's cancer in front of Eames. Did I think she wouldn't remember?

I dropped onto the bench, leaving plenty of space between us. "She, uh..." I rubbed the back of my neck. "They're doing radiation... that's the first, um... first step. It's targeted, so the, it, it's more effective... And then... they follow-up with chemo..." It was so hard to talk about this.

I peeked at Eames. She nodded as though I'd been speaking intelligibly. "She's lucky in one thing," she said. "She's got you in her corner."

I exhaled in a loud "Pff!" at that.

"Seriously," she said. "You've probably researched all the meds out there, all the therapies. You talk to the doctors, ask questions, track her progress. Am I right?"

I rose again and looked at Eames. I appreciated her kindness, but it didn't change the problems or my obligations.

She stood and reached for my hand, then started to lean forward, and I felt a moment of alarm. Although she wasn't asking for a lot, I couldn't let her take it further. I had to keep my focus on Mom. I quickly kissed Eames on the cheek.

"Sorry," I said. "We should, uh..."

She was holding my hand pretty firmly – I didn't want to drag her toward the car, so I stood there like an idiot, shuffling my feet and looking at the ground.

"Hey." Eames squeezed and tugged my hand. I peeked at her. She said, "I wish things were different, but... it's no use wishing. Right now we have to get back to One PP, and then you need to be with your mom. Sometime down the line we'll get a chance to figure out what's going on with us. Okay?"

I nodded. "'Kay."

"In the meantime," she said, "we're good. If you need to take any time, I'll cover."

I didn't want to put any extra burden on my partner because of my personal problems, but before I could even start to say that, Eames shook her head and pointed a finger in my face.

"I mean it, Bobby," she said. "Do I have to remind you how much you've covered for me when I had to be at therapy or counseling? So just shut up and let me do this for you."

I spent the rest of the trip to the city in thought.

Eames had responded passionately when I kissed her, but then she'd backed off easily when I pointed out the obstacles we faced. She was a master of compartmentalizing her life, I knew – probably better than me – but even so, I was surprised how she could switch her focus back onto work without a hitch. Maybe our personal relationship wasn't that big a deal to her?

We'd gone out once in the brief gap between Captains Deakins and Ross. I had a lot of fun, and I'd been sure she did, too. We'd agreed to stop until we knew more about our new captain.

Now it looked like we might not start again.

It was probably just as well.

.


End file.
